


From Ashes Grows The Birch

by Aeriel



Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, POV First Person, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:43:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/pseuds/Aeriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kushiel was merciful, and Naamah was cruel. </p><p>I am Alcuin no Delaunay, and I am alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Ashes Grows The Birch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liviania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviania/gifts).



The first time I died, I was sixteen.

I thought then that there must have been some dreadful mistake on Lord Kushiel's part, sending me back to the earthly realm instead of letting me pass on to the true Terre d'Ange that lies beyond. I was angry, mostly so I would not have to fully comprehend my own grief.

It is hard to know how long I might have stayed angry, had I not woken in the back of a slaving cart, bound between Phèdre and Joscelin.

I was the first to come to, the first to assess our surroundings. While I was still turning it over in my head, trying to make sense of where we were, Phèdre woke and threw herself away from me to empty the contents of her stomach.

Phèdre. She'd been to the Palace, she had told me so before I fell into a dreamless sleep. Someone had betrayed them. Anafiel could--

That wound was fresh, as painful as it had been when I first lost consciousness. Worse, in a way, because now I was somewhere else, and his body might still be lying there unattended, blood crusting over and marring that face I had loved more than my own life.

Who would bury him, if Phèdre and I were here? Who would mourn him as we did?

But this was not a moment for self-pity. The Cassiline was stirring, and if I didn't know whom Phèdre had seen, he surely would. And the pool of suspects was limited.

I saw him checking for his weapons, all gone. Phèdre wiped her mouth and came to me, with as much grace as she could manage under the circumstances.

"Alcuin! Your head!"

"Never mind that now," I said, not unkindly, lacing my hand in hers. "Who did this to us?"

"Melisande," Joscelin said bitterly. "Melisande Shahrizai."

I could see the board now, with a clarity that would have been a blessing if there were any players remaining in our midst. Melisande was one of Anafiel's oldest friends-- she was even permitted the luxury of his first name in public. She knew the same long held secrets as me, and almost certainly knew some I did not. And she knew exactly how valuable Phèdre and I were.

But if she had a grievance, why act on it now? What made her choose now and not before?

They had been D'Angeline that came to kill him-- I had seen that much. And Melisande was most decidedly not in league with Trevalion.

Phèdre saw my face, understanding, and rested her head on my shoulder. "D'Aiglemort," she supplied. "He was fostered in Kusheth. He sent Camaelines to our household."

I frowned. "Is that where we are? Camlach?"

"It's certainly cold enough," Joscelin muttered. "But it doesn't make sense. What's he after?"

I glanced at Phèdre. We were both thinking that Isidore d'Aiglemort had bid for Ysandre's hand. The man did not lack for ambition.

"The throne, most likely," I said slowly. If either Melisande or d'Aiglemort had guessed at Anafiel's true allegiances, they would have had ample reason to want him removed from play. "Delaunay would have taken measures to keep him from it."

I could see that Joscelin was surprised. "I thought the two of you were but Servants of Naamah."

I had assumed his ignorance, but Phèdre bristled at that. "Did you learn nothing of what we were about in Delaunay's house? Better if we had been! Then Alcuin would be unharmed and Melisande Shahrizai would not have had me to use as her hunting dog to flush out Delaunay's allies."

He frowned. "Did you give her Rousse's message?"

"No!" She shuddered against me. "No, no, no…"

"This is not your fault, Phèdre," I said, squeezing her hand. "He knew the risks, and so did I." It was Phèdre's anguish that unsettled me. I had thought that he was keeping her safe, at least for the time being. That her ignorance of the Alban agreement would protect her. But it all seemed so obvious now that an enemy would assume Phèdre was part of Anafiel's scheme. And I knew him too well to believe that was an oversight.

Phèdre was meant as a distraction for Melisande.

Before I could follow that unsettling thought any further, the cart came to an abrupt halt, jolting all three of us.

Wherever we were, it was dark. Whoever had taken us spoke D'Angeline well enough, but they laughed when Joscelin demanded they answer him in the name of the Cassiline Brotherhood, though they let slip that we were at the borders of Camlach, and their manners told the rest of the story.

Phèdre and I obeyed them in silence, but any chance we might have had to learn more was ruined by Joscelin's belligerence.

When fighting broke out, I closed my eyes and wished I were dead. Phèdre intervened with a shout. When I opened my eyes, she was on her feet, staring them down and wielding her connection to Melisande like a blade drawn only so one could see its sharpness.

They stood down.

I drank down the flask we all guessed was drugged.

I was never made of Phèdre's mettle.

If there were any other highlights of our journey, I missed them, lost between slumber and heartsick denial. The next I remember is Phèdre shaking me violently.

I was lying on the ground, and it was cold and wet, and white as far as the eye could see. For a disoriented moment I thought I was shedding my hair like a dog, and then I realized it was snow.

Joscelin sat beside me, squinting in the light. I followed the path of their eyes (his and Phèdre's) to our captors, advancing towards eight men astride thick horses with shaggy hair.

I didn't need to hear them speak. I recognized those horses.

"Skaldi," I said, my voice slurred and hoarse from disuse.

When faced with the unthinkable, what can one do?

For my part, I did nothing. It was as if my heart and mind seized up and froze in the snow. I thought, dully, that I was terrified, but I did not feel it.

Joscelin flew into action, wild with some idea of escape. It seemed almost funny to me, that he would try the same thing again with more men and less direction. _Where are you even going to escape to, Joscelin Verreuil? What could you possibly think is waiting for you elsewhere?_

As for Phèdre, I honestly could not say. Joscelin moved before she had a chance to express any sentiment of her own. Was this, I thought, how it was going to be from now on? Impulsive spirited Phèdre, of all people, reduced to looking after an ill-tempered Cassiline?

He was all fire and no purpose, lashing out in all directions as the Skaldi laughed and tossed his pack and weapons back and forth. I wished he would realize that he was only making himself a fool, and willed him to stop and stand still so the game would end.

But Joscelin is nothing if not stubborn.

I glanced at Phèdre, and we exchanged a long meaningful look. Our one dubious advantage was the Skaldic I had been weaned on and she had learnt at our lord Delaunay's knee. We might learn more if they did not realize we were fluent, but it would be a long and tiresome road of feigned confusion, and foolish Joscelin was confused enough at present for all three of us.

Phèdre nodded, and put her hand on mine. It was decided.

I stood up. _"Let him alone!"_ I shouted in Skaldic. "He does not understand!"

My voice was softer than Phèdre's, but they heard me all the same.

Their leader gave me a long look. " _Kilberhaar_ did not say you spoke our tongue."

"He did not ask me," I returned.

He gestured to Phèdre, who had stood up as well, just far enough that her hair did not fly into my face (as my own did constantly in the wind). "And her? What does she know?"

With her impeccable sense of theater, Phèdre knelt in the snow. "I know that I am your slave, my lord."

The right answer, of course.

"Good!" He smiled, and gestured to one of his men. "Harald! Bring the D'Angeline women cloaks! I will not have them die of cold before one of them warms my bed!"

Phèdre frowned. "I am the only woman, my lord."

For a moment, the men stared at me. Then the leader began to laugh, and slowly, they all joined in. "You D'Angeline are a strange people! I have seen your pretty men before, and still I was not sure. Ah, but I should have realized _Kilberhaar_ would never sell Gunter Arnlaugsson a woman without breasts!"

Phèdre was lifted up onto his saddle. As the Skaldi conferred on what to do with me (and you may be sure many jokes were made about the dubious nature of my masculinity) I turned to our Cassiline.

"This is not the right time, Joscelin."

Joscelin, understanding only our actions, looked at Phèdre with naked revulsion.

"Do you hear me?" I said in D'Angeline, louder. "They won't kill us. They paid good money. Use your head."

But he was already beyond reason.

It took seven men to subdue him.

I did not hear what passed between Gunter Arnlaugsson (for that was their leader's name) and Phèdre, though I would learn of it later. I watched Joscelin spit curses as he was trussed up like a pheasant and wondered why I could not feel a thing.

I rode behind Harald the Beardless, for the men found us hilariously suited, seeing as I had no beard myself.

"The finest woman our Harald can find!"

"Such a pity she's no woman!"

"Never fear, the moment one of them grows whiskers we can have ourselves a lovely wedding!"

Harald bore this with remarkable good grace. Perhaps because he was used to it, or because he was young enough that he knew his time would come.

I saw Phèdre, shivering, draw her arms close around Gunter's body. I was also cold, of course, but I do much better than she in low temperatures. Extreme heat I find unbearable, but the chilly winds of Skaldia suited my mood well enough.

In the morning, the women woke Phèdre and I and explained that we were to bathe. I concealed my surprise that I was expected to wash among the women, and followed where they led. In truth, I was glad to have not yet been separated from Phèdre as we had been from Joscelin, and as we had undressed in each other's presence before, it did not bother me overmuch.

I will not say I did not have misgivings about being watched by Hedwig and the others, but I told myself that if Phèdre could relieve herself while soldiers watched, I could manage.

Besides, it was freezing. They wouldn't get much of a show.

Despite our situation, I saw Phèdre preen a little at the women's awed murmurs as she disrobed. As much as she took pride in her appearance (and I think enjoyed their curious touches) it became immediately apparent that it was her marque that fascinated them most.

My own body was met with nervous giggles, though by the color that rose in their cheeks when I glanced at them, it was not meant unkindly. Most of the women of the steading, at least the ones that paid us attention, were young and had never seen an adult man in a state of total undress. For the time being, their embarrassment meant that they let me alone, which was a state of affairs I welcomed.

"He has one too, in the shape of a tree!" Hedwig remarked, examining my back. "So it is not a woman's mark?"

Phèdre explained our marques and what it was to be a Servant of Naamah, as best she could given the language barrier, and the cultural barrier, which was far steeper. She looked to me for assistance several times, but I was not feeling particularly talkative in the context of a freezing bucket bath surrounded by enemies.

Until, that is, I realized Hedwig had assumed that Phèdre's patrons were only men.

"That men have appetites enough to devote to this kind of service, I understand," Hedwig said, peering at me. "But do women in your land truly seek out beardless men to serve your gods and not to get with child?"

"There are many things a man can do with a woman that will not get her with child and will give her great pleasure," I said. My face was serene, but my heart was sick. "And D'Angeline women do not bear children until they wish to, which allows them to pursue men for sport, as men pursue them."

"Why is there more on your back than hers?" one young woman wanted to know.

"I have completed my service," I said shortly. "Phèdre has not."

"And what of these?" Hedwig asked, fingers brushing against welts on Phèdre's skin. I saw her flinch. Melisande had left her own mark. "Are these part of the rituals?"

"No,"Phèdre said quietly. "They are not." I had never seen her like that before, suffused with shame for what had always brought her joy. It shocked me out of my numbness and filled me with hate: for Melisande Shahrizai, for Isidore d'Aiglemort, for everyone who had brought us to this point.

"Not all of our masters wish to give as well as receive, and they are not all filled with a divine inspiration." If I was bitter, I had good cause for it. "There are always those that go too far and see an object rather than another person."

Phèdre turned back to me then. "Alcuin…"

They asked no more questions after that.

In the great hall, I was put to work, though Phèdre was left to sit and wait Gunter's pleasure. It was difficult work, much of which I was unfamiliar with, such as cleaning the hearths and carrying the firewood.

"Your hands are smooth as a child's," Hedwig observed. "Some life you must have lived before this."

After not too long, I was allowed to sit by Phèdre, as some of the younger women were watching me rather than their spinning wheels, and Hedwig would have none of that. The men made many comments ranging from the genuinely complimentary to the outright crude regarding what they thought of Phèdre. For once the attention did not please her, drawn into herself as she was at the prospect of going to bed with Gunter whether she liked it or no.

Heresy was not heresy in Skaldia.

Silently, I put my hand on her knee. I knew her dread well, and knew all I could offer was that I was here, and I knew, and I was sorry.

We did not speak that day, but we understood each other well enough.

Phèdre did gasp when Gunter returned, for there was a diamond about his neck that he could only have taken from our captors. I did not note its significance quite yet, for I was lost in my own thoughts, staring at the ground, thinking, _he is dead. He is dead. He is dead, and I am worthless._

It was only when Gunter snatched Phèdre up from beside me and swung her over his shoulder like a piece of meat that I started, and realized the time had come.

So Phèdre went with him, limp but unwilling, casting one last look of sorrow at me.

The unfairness of it all choked me.

I was exhausted from our long waking nightmare, but I could not sleep. I sat by the fire, hearing the wind roar outside, and thought of Phèdre in that beast's bed and Joscelin freezing among the animals.

I thought of Anafiel's corpse, broken and oddly small in death. I'd retched at the sight before falling unconscious.

I thought that I should have been there to defend him. I thought I should have died too.

What kind of a life was this that I had woken to?

In the morning, Phèdre returned, full of hatred for our captors. And yet I saw Kushiel’s fire still burning bright in her, dazzling in its inexorability. She sang for Anafiel’s remembrance, and sobbed in my arms when she was done.

And I, I, I who had known him to the core and who had sacrificed everything over and over for the merest touch of a smile at the corner of his glorious mouth, I who grieved him to the very depths of my soul, I who could not understand how it was that I was living when he was not, _I_ sat there unfeeling as a stone and wondered why it was that I could not cry.

I forced myself to approach my current situation as Anafiel would have done. _All knowledge is worth having_. My knowledge of Skaldia, aside from dim and unpleasant recollections of early childhood, was largely theoretical. Here was experience, more valuable than any text.

What that value was, I did not know, but I tried my best to convince myself it would come into play in time.

The Skaldi regarded me as a kind of half-woman since I had led a "soft" life alongside Phèdre, and the men often made jokes at my expense when I proved inadequate at chores most of their women could carry out without much effort. This was clearly meant to goad me, but seeing what Phèdre endured for our sake (and I could only imagine what Gunter put her through when I was not present) I consider any comparison between us the highest of compliments.

While Phèdre was confined to the hall, under the supervision of the women, I was able to locate our Cassiline, bound and chained up like a mad dog in the kennels. When he saw me he nearly overturned the bucket of water I had brought, so senseless was his fury.

"Cowards and traitors!" he snarled in his native D'Angeline. "I don't need your pity! I'd rather die than live like this!"

"And would that fulfill your oath to Cassiel, dying in the snow to save your pride?" I retorted, steadying the bucket though my own hands were shaking. "Hate if you must, but live. If _I_ can bear the weight of it, Joscelin Verreuil, surely you can."

"For what purpose?" Joscelin spat. "Why should I humble myself to ease the burdens of a pair of Skaldic-speaking whores?"

I very nearly walked off and left him then-- I would like to say I was minded of Anafiel's teachings, that some proverb crossed my mind and stayed me. But it was blind rage that made me shout, "And what of Phèdre's pride? Is that worth nothing to you? They commit heresy on her body nightly and the only injustice that you see here is your own suffering!"

It was inelegant, as all words spoken from the heart are, but it silenced him momentarily, and gave me pause to refine my approach.

"There are traitors here," I said steadily, "but not in Naamah's service. Isidore d'Aiglemort pays our captors to raid Camaeline villages, and Gunter Arnlaugsson wears Melisande Shahrizai's diamond. Do you not find that curious?"

Joscelin bristled at my pronunciation of Gunter's name, but he did not lash out again. "Why? Why would D'Angeline nobles make a secret alliance with the Skaldi?"

"We may find out if we cooperate, but I assure you, dead men cannot ask questions." I was perhaps a bit sharper than was needful, but being called a _Skaldic-speaking whore_ did not leave me feeling particularly charitable or kind.

"Alcuin." Joscelin lowered his head, as if to acknowledge defeat. "I have wronged you."

"I'm not asking for an apology. I'm asking for your help."

He closed his eyes. "I will try."

After some days had passed and Joscelin had ceased to be considered a frothing animal in the kennels, Phèdre asked to see him.

Unfortunately, when Joscelin was brought out into her sight, chained up on his knees, Gunter had his arm about Phèdre's shoulders. I saw Joscelin tense at the indication of casual intimacy, and I knew Phèdre saw it too.

_Joscelin, you fool. She doesn't have to cringe at his every touch for it to be heresy._

Phèdre knelt in the snow to be at his eye level. "Joscelin, you must do this one last thing for Alcuin and I," she said in soft D'Angeline. "You must leave us here and go back to the City to deliver Rousse's message and tell them what d'Aiglemort is about. I can get out of the great hall tonight and free you. I can get you arms, and clothing, and a tinderbox at least."

"What about you?" He glanced at me. "What about Alcuin?"

"We have agreed," Phèdre explained. "It's no longer your concern what happens to us. Gunter means to bring me to the Allthing, to give me to Waldemar Selig. Alcuin and I will learn what we can and do what we may. But you, alone, have a chance to escape!"

"No." His face fell. "No, not alone. If Alcuin speaks the truth… if _you_ speak the truth, and neither of you are traitors, I cannot do it. My oath is to Cassiel, not the Crown."

"Cassiel bid you protect _us!"_ Phèdre shouted. "If you would serve us, serve the Crown!"

He was rocking back and forth now. I should have felt sorry for him, at least, but I felt nothing but rage as I watched him suffer. "You don't understand, It has naught to do with thrones and crowns. Cassiel betrayed God because God himself had forgotten the duty of love and abandoned Elua ben Yeshua to the whims of Fate. To the point of damnation and beyond, he is the Perfect Companion. If you are true, if you are true… _I cannot abandon the pair of you."_

Phèdre seized his shoulders. "Alcuin! Make him see reason!"

"Joscelin," I said calmly, "you are free to make your own decisions. But if Ysandre de la Courcel dies and we could have prevented it had you acted otherwise, _I will never forgive you."_

He stared at me. "Why?"

I laughed, bitterly. "Because I keep my promises. And sometimes I keep other people's as well."

Phèdre turned to me, her expression caught between grief and pity. She recognized Anafiel’s words to me, I knew. But I did not-- could not-- acknowledge it.

In the end, it did not change his mind. I had not really thought that it would. But it was only fair to warn him.

I had thought, now that Joscelin had left the kennels and could move about the steading before the women who had not yet beheld him, that I would be forgotten. Now there was Joscelin to chop wood and haul buckets of water and effortlessly perform other so-called masculine tasks that I struggled with, why would any of the women make eyes at me? By Skaldi standards, he was easily the more attractive figure.

And yet flirtatious Ailsa continued to dog my footsteps

"Are all men in your country beautiful?"

Beautiful. That was what Anafiel had called me, in every language he knew and some he did not. My stomach twisted with grief and my eyes burned with unshed tears.

She smiled, a predator's pleasure. "I would see how well you serve your gods."

"No," I gasped, drawing back. It was too soon. Far too soon.

I had spoken in D'Angeline, but my meaning was clear enough to her. She drew up her chin. "Are we so repulsive to you now, you, who know our language as your own? You are used to more beautiful women throwing themselves at your feet?"

"That is not so," I said, honestly. How could I explain my objections without offending her, or arousing her disgust? "There was… one that meant everything to me. I cannot give of myself without…" here, in my pain, I stumbled in my Skaldic, "without dishonoring my memory of what will never be again."

Her anger receded. "You held your countrywoman in your arms when she wept, I saw."

Somewhat confused, I nodded.

"You watch her through the day. I think I understand."

She thought that Phèdre was my lost love. I must have expressed myself quite poorly-- or perhaps it was common here to speak of a shamed woman as if she were dead.

Still, it might prove a useful fiction. If Ailsa was the only woman who had been bold enough to proposition me so far, it did not mean there were not three others considering the idea. Phèdre's talents were already the subject of much gossip, and it followed that they might guess I had similar skill.

Better that they say I only had eyes for Phèdre than that I had some not inconsiderable inclination towards my own sex.

I did understand the root of the confusion. After Gunter dismissed her in the mornings, Phèdre would come and sit by me, and we would comb out each other's hair in contemplative silence, as we had done when we were younger. Sometimes she braided part of mine to keep it out of my face when I went outside with the other housecarls.

Rumors of our romance flourished in the steading-- ironic, considering we never saw each other outside the hall, where everyone could watch us.

Phèdre sang, betimes, and conferred with me on Skaldic translations of songs from home. I offered suggestions but did not join her. I had no heart for singing.

In many ways, Phèdre outpaced me as Anafiel's student. For one, she has always written a fairer hand, while I often find myself unconsciously hurrying and letting my words grow less clear. Do not mistake me, when I say that her Skaldic was lesser to some of the other tongues she knows, it is no slight against her abilities or cleverness.

But as one who was weaned on the language, I know full well there are sounds common to that tongue that one never uses in D'Angeline or Caerdicci. I learned from watching Phèdre's early struggles which sounds were the most difficult for D'Angeline-trained mouths, and hearing the difference betwixt us-- her ear was faultless-- Phèdre also learned in which ways her pronunciation was wanting.

It stung her pride deeply, but the Skaldi men seemed to find it endearing to see a pretty foreign woman stumbling over sounds that were as second nature to them, and made no attempt to correct her.

This was one of her true aims in translating songs with my assistance, as I could quietly give her examples to practice with. But what our captors took away from it was that I was Phèdre's teacher and more advanced in matters of language. Whether or not it was true, it made a great deal of difference in what was to follow.

My head wound was healing, slowly, and so Phèdre always took care not to comb roughly in the vicinity. The women of the steading noticed this, along with my wincing when Phèdre forgot, and became curious as to the nature of my injury.

I had a tale prepared for them.

"We were betrayed by men that we had trusted," I said gravely, holding Phèdre's hand. I could feel her anxiety, but I knew she trusted me enough to go along with whatever I said, as I trusted her. "They put poison in our protector's cups to make him sleep. I saw that they wanted Phèdre, and so I threw myself in their path to protect her. There were too many of them. When one of them grabbed her and she cried out, I turned my head to look at her, and was struck from behind. They must have believed I was dead."I hesitated. "It would have been an honorable death. But a pointless one."

In truth, if I had been in the thick of the attack, I think I might have acquitted myself well enough to win some respect from the Skaldi. I would have gladly killed for Anafiel's sake. But I thought it safer to err on the side of modesty, in case the surprise of my meager martial skills made the difference between life and death.

Besides, there was little honor in what had really transpired. Being hit in the back of the head by an unknown assailant after relieving myself makes for a less than stirring tale. Even if I did wake to find everyone in the house had been murdered whilst I was unconscious.

I often wonder who it was that struck me. A squeamish trespasser? A less than diligent opponent? A traitor in our home who nevertheless wished me spared? Lord Kushiel himself?

In any case, the Skaldi women were greatly moved by my lies. And if any of them were still ambivalent, they were won over when Phèdre kissed my injured skull (taking care not to actually harm me, of course).

Phèdre, I think, could sometimes find beauty in our harsh surroundings. It is a part of her nature that I have never understood. Watching Joscelin go about his duties steeped in sullen bitterness, there were times when I felt closer to him than her in spirit.

And there were times when I resented them both, with a violence that frightened me. Why should a Cassiline who knew nothing of Naamah's ways turn from her servant in disgust when she was violated? Why should Phèdre weep openly for Anafiel when I, I who had known him longer and given all of myself to him, could not? Their paths remained in sight, while mine had crumbled under my feet as I drifted between this world and the next. All that I was, I owed to him. What could I be in a world without his design?

I would recognize him, sometimes-- for a fraction of an instant-- in little things. The glimmer of the winter sun on a man's light brown hair, turned briefly red gold by the light. The sharp inflection in Hedwig's voice when Phèdre acted against her wishes, softened almost immediately by her all too familiar amused pleasure in the sureness of Phèdre's spirit. The way Ailsa would sometimes wind a strand of my white hair around her finger, startling me every time, for I expected a different hand.

I knew these moments for what they were-- a child's mad fancies, the mind seeking to form connections and have continuity where there was none. I never took them for visitations, and so did not speak of it to Phèdre.

Often, I thought on the gods.

It had always been Naamah I had understood, Naamah who gave all of herself for her beloved. I thought I knew her, certainly better than I knew Cassiel or Kushiel. But that night when everything changed, when I was struck and my life hung suspended in the void betwixt life and death… Naamah was not there.

My first waking thought, incongruously, had been of Kushiel.

I envied Phèdre her patron god.

Not that I could ever imagine myself in her shoes, enduring what she enjoyed, but that had only ever been a piece of it, no matter what they thought at Valerian House. No matter what happened, Phèdre would always have Lord Kushiel. Their bond was undeniable and unbreakable. I believed Phèdre when she grieved our Lord Delaunay, but she never served him alone.

Anafiel had been my god and I was now paying the price for it.

How many times had I knelt before Naamah, praying for her understanding and guidance?

How many times had he done so?

I would never know.

I had never really imagined him that way, at the mercy of the unknowable.

Not like Phèdre.

Phèdre went to Gunter's bed as I had gone to Vitale Bouvarre's, with her head held high. I hated watching her go, but I refused to shame her sacrifice by averting my eyes.

"How can you stand it?" Joscelin asked me, more than once. "You know what goes on. Better… better than I do, at least." He colored and looked away.

"Because it isn't me," I said, truthfully. "Because it isn't my decision to make. And what good would it do any of us if I tried to beat him to death with a wooden bowl?"

Joscelin did look at me then. "I never knew you were so cold."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Neither did I."

We were silent, for a time. How could I explain to him that it hurt me as badly, nay, _worse_ than it did him to see my proud near-sister brought so low? It was only that I had been raised to think and calculate first at all costs, and it would indeed cost me everything to come unwound as he imagined I should be.

In the face of insurmountable suffering, one grasps what one can hold onto.

It was Phèdre in that cretin's bed and not me.

I was alive and Anafiel was dead.

Joscelin couldn't grasp the smallest fraction of it.

That comforted me.

Often I wished I were an animal. One of the snow foxes, concerned only with hunting and begetting. Their minds were too small to hold sorrow long.

But Phèdre never gave up.

"Why isn't Gunter afraid of d'Aiglemort?" she wondered out loud. "Camlach is full of men who know how to wield a sword, and d'Aiglemort is a traitor. It would take precious little for him to turn again on his newfound allies, as he must plan to do eventually."

I shrugged, weary of it all. "The fight would be on foreign land, but Terre d'Ange has little in the way of natural defenses. Our captors do not think much of D'Angeline warriors." Despite my disinterest, I could not stop myself from finishing the thought. "In the past our saving grace has been our tactics and organization. If they mean to conquer, they must have someone who can devise stratagems for them as well."

"So then you think it's true, what Gonzago de Escabares said a year ago," Phèdre persisted. "The Skaldi have found a leader who thinks."

"Perhaps."

She recognized the evasion. "But what else?"

I closed my eyes. "What I want to know is why d'Aiglemort is not afraid of the Skaldi. Can he really be so foolish as to grasp hold of a weapon that could just as easily destroy him as his enemies? And if he is, why would Melisande Shahrizai cast her lot in with him?"

Phèdre's expression closed off. "Perhaps she means to use him and discard him as she did Prince Baudoin."

"You would know better than I."

I had not intended it as a cruel remark, but from the way she flinched, I realized immediately that I had struck a wound. "Phèdre, I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be." Her hair fell around her face in a cloud, hiding her expression from me, but I could hear the tightness in her voice. "It's true. No one knew better than I how dangerous she was, and I went to her still. I danced to her tune. A fine instrument I am, to make such sounds as she wishes to play upon me."

Anafiel knew full well how dangerous Melisande was. But the words stuck in my throat. It felt a betrayal, to admit out loud that I doubted him in any way. Not now. I couldn't say it now.

So I stayed silent, even as I recognized that the metaphor was his and not hers. I'd never heard him call Phèdre as such, but still I knew.

Slowly, Phèdre and I slipped apart.

She talked often to Hedwig and the women of the steading, and learned more songs from them, and Harald and Knut.

I taught Joscelin Skaldic.

It was not an enjoyable task. The fault was mine, entirely-- he had the will and the wit-- for I was distracted and irritable, and less than accommodating. He was far more forgiving than me, perhaps because he realized I was not truly wroth with him but with Ailsa and her giggling companions, who often watched our lessons.

I think Phèdre took pity on us both, for she began to give Joscelin lessons of her own, after which his progress was rapid. I continued to practice with him, to keep up appearances if nothing else, but the credit was hers and all three of us knew it.

"If he looks as fine as this after sleeping in the kennels, what must he look like clean!" Hedwig said admiringly, watching Joscelin chop the wood for me to stack.

"You could find out," I pointed out. "Draw him a bath and let him wash."

The bathing of Joscelin Verreuil proved to be one of the most popular events the steading ever had. All the women crowded into the bathing room, for which I suppose I cannot blame them. I would have been elsewhere, but when Joscelin learned of our plan he made such woebegone eyes at me that I agreed to help him, as the only man on the steading who was likely to be present.

There was not much I could do, of course, but I did stand by him and offer him brushes and soap to scrub and clean clothes once it was done. Seeing the horror in his eyes at the filthy remains of his Cassiline garb cast aside, Phèdre offered to mend them, a largely useless gesture since Phèdre could no more sew than I could. But one of the women who admired Joscelin, I think, took on the task before Phèdre could attempt it.

Afterwards, I sat with Joscelin and combed out his hair as I had done with Phèdre before we quarreled.

"I could never do what you and Phèdre do," he said, suddenly.

"I think there's little question of that," I said dryly, pausing to examine a great knot. "What put it into your head?"

"Being naked in front of…" Joscelin blushed. "In front of strange women."

"Would you prefer strange men?" It was not so bad as I had thought, the knot. It only required patience, and that I had now in abundance.

"Maybe." He hesitated. "Only because I have what they have. They might not feel so… hungry."

I laughed, not unkindly. "You'd be surprised."

I think he truly had forgotten for a moment, or else was even more innocent in the ways of love than Phèdre and I had reckoned. He colored again, only to wince as my nail caught briefly in one of the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

"My apologies," I said gently. "I didn't mean to tease you." I gathered another tress of his hair and ran the comb through the split ends, where I was least likely to hurt him. "It isn't so bad, you know. Being naked in front of someone who wants you."

"It's humiliating."

I raised my eyebrows, though he could not see it, and discerned another knot as I worked my way up the gathered strands. "I once waited in a woman's bedroom in nothing but scarlet ribbon."

Joscelin whipped his head around to stare at me. His shock was almost endearing. _"Why?"  
_

"Because I was paid for by her friend, to be her birthday present. Because it made her happy." I smiled at the memory. "She was a very beautiful woman."

That proved to be the end of the conversation, though Joscelin was very red indeed.

Our merriment came to a harsh end when it was time for another raid.

I hardly knew which was worse, their gleeful return, decked in the spoils of the dead and filled with tales of the slaughter of our people or the long, quiet, dismal wait for that return.

Gunter swept Phèdre away to his bedchamber, and I shuddered to think of the heresy she had no choice but to endure.

"This is your chance," I said to Joscelin, as we sat in the hall watching drunken Skaldi drop to the floor snoring. "You can go back."

Joscelin shook his head in anguish. "No, I can't. I made a vow. I can't leave you here. I can't leave her to… _this_."

Later, after Gunter was snoring, Phèdre would be considerably more strident. For my part, I only said, "And I remind you that I too have a vow. If Ysandre de la Courcel dies, and your actions could have saved her, I will never forgive you."

Joscelin closed his eyes. "It's all I have left, Alcuin. I've failed them all, all but Cassiel."

 _And yet,_ I thought, _you still have more than I do._

The Allthing hung over our heads, as did the looming inevitability of Waldemar Selig. I did not yet know if I was going to be handed over to him along with Phèdre. Joscelin she could likely persuade Selig was an asset, but my value (if indeed, I still had any) was significantly less obvious. Part of me wished I had spent more time learning from Joscelin, but for the most part I knew it would have made no difference.

The uncertainty drew Phèdre and I together again, she risking Gunter's jealousy for the doubtful pleasure of my company. Still, sometimes one only wants to be held by an old companion, and we both felt that need keenly.

And sometimes in the strain of living amongst enemies, one grows tired, and lets foolish things slip.

There was already a small but fierce spark of animosity towards me among the thanes, diluted somewhat by Joscelin's presence, but burning ever brighter in the hearts of those that desired Ailsa and my other unwanted admirers. They had made my chores difficult from the outset, but as I was clumsy and ill-suited to the work regardless of their efforts, the strategy proved ineffective at dissuading the women from making eyes at me.

Loudly they speculated about my sex, questioned my manhood, even grabbed hold of me more than once and threatened to strip me and check. But I ignored them and did not rise to the taunts, and gradually they grew tired of my unbroken composure.

At least, until Phèdre's mistake.

It was such a minor thing that had circumstances been only slightly different it would have amounted to nothing. If the men had not heard from the women that Phèdre and I both made our marques through pleasure, if they had not seen me politely rebuff Ailsa yet again the same day and wondered at it, if Evrard the Sharptongued in particular had not been within earshot at that very moment…

But all those things did occur, and so it was that when Gunter asked if women were as pleased with me in Terre d'Ange as men must be with Phèdre, Phèdre said that she was sure they were.

Only, when she spoke of my patrons, the pronoun she used was gender-neutral.

After that, there was a new line of speculation, one that they were sure would turn the women away from me for good.

When Ailsa hoisted her breasts at me next, Evrard was ready.

"Do you see?" he said, loudly, for the benefit of the others. "How peculiar it is for a man, even if he be half a man, to take such little interests in our Ailsa's charms!"

"A man we hear has a kind of rune magic in his back, in the shape of Yggdrasill, the World Tree, won through favors performed at night," another observed. "Can it be that a man who has the appetite for so many women finds _our_ women beneath his notice?"

I ignored them, emptying out my bucket of water.

There were murmurs of assent.

"If this is magic," Evrard suggested, "it is not the magic a man learns from lying with women, surely. Why, in the dark one could almost mistake him for a woman himself!"

"It's happened already!" shouted one of the thanes who had been with Gunter when he bought us.

"Perhaps he's learnt seiðr from Freyja!" one of them roared.

I stiffened. I knew of seiðr, which was a kind of women's magic, from the old legends my nurse had told me, and I knew just where they intended to go with it. "I practice no magic, and bear no runes on my back."

But it made no difference. I had denied the wrong accusation.

"What she has on her back she admits was paid for by men she lay with!" Evrard declared. "Why should we not assume the half-woman did not eagerly do the same? Look at how he shies from Ailsa! Look at how he attends on the wolf-cub! You know what he is!"

_"Sansorðinn!"_

Slut. Male slut, used by another man.

"D'Angeline _sansorðinn!"_

"He is not."

To my great surprise, it was Joscelin who had spoken. Joscelin, who could not possibly have understood the whole of Evrard's diatribe. In halting Skaldic, he continued, "That on his back is proof of a bargain… a debt finished. There is no shame in it."

Unspoken but implied in his word choice was the only part of the story that wasn't true. _He had no choice._

"What _man_ pays his debts in the bedchamber?" Evrard jeered. "Only a man who lacks what makes a man!"

"I would die before letting myself be shamed by a D'Angeline!"one man roared.

"And would that be an honorable death?" Joscelin returned. "Is that what you call bravery, death?"

I was glad he had spoken, for I could not, shaking with wordless rage.

"You make many assumptions Evrard," Hedwig pointed out. "You see how pretty they both are. He may look like a woman, but how do you know he played the woman's part?"

The word Hedwig used was _argr_ , which describes cowardice, effeminate nature, and, of course, as I have translated, a man being on the receiving end of a homosexual encounter, which to a Skaldi mind is a womanly thing.

There is, of course, no greater insult for a man in Skaldia than that.

To have my life and experiences reduced to such a word, such a petty argument… To twist the only thing I had ever had for myself into a shameful thing…

To speak of _Anafiel_ in such a way...

"Is that what you were hoping for?" Another man hooted.

I bit the inside of my cheek, swallowing down my bile.

"And why not?" Evrard began to grin, as my stomach churned."If the half-woman is as practiced as his love, I should be interested to see how it is to ride such a mare!"

That was when I could keep silent no longer. "I should like to see you _try,_ you half-witted pissant!" _  
_

This met with roars of approval from the crowd. The Skaldi like nothing so much as a good brawl, particularly over perceived threats to masculinity. I had not planned it as such, but there was no better defense to accusations of womanly nature than aggressiveness, not among these people.

I saw him hesitate. He had reckoned me an easy target, and I had proved otherwise. But there was no backing down now. "Gladly, D'Angeline! We shall see what your pretty face looks like after a night with a real man, eh?"

The men hooted, but I thought I detected some derisive noises from the women, who were at least not cheering him on.

"I assume you're not talking about yourself," I returned. "In my country there are men that would make you _argr_ for good!"

The crowd burst into raucous laughter and Evrard's face twisted with rage. When he hurled himself at me, I was ready for him, and easily sidestepped his heavy lunge. With him thus unbalanced, I swung the heavy bucket into the back of his head with a resounding crack and kicked the unprotected back of his supporting knee, sending him to the ground.

Spitting curses, the man rolled over, slowly, as the other Skaldi whooped and shouted taunts.

"Enough." It was Joscelin, placing himself between Evrard and I. I recognized his stance, though he was otherwise unarmed. "I am sworn to protect them both. If there is a battle to be fought, I will take his place."

This was not at all the Skaldi way. "Joscelin," I said quietly, in D'Angeline so he would be sure to understand. "If you do this they will talk. About you and I."

I saw him tense, but he did not move. "So be it. This is my duty."

It was, I thought, but that was not all there was to it.

Gunter laughed. "Do you mean to claim the right to avenge the insult on his behalf, wolf-cub?"

"I do."

Evrard paled at that. "Gunter, he's a housecarl at best! You cannot ask me to fight a slave! I will not stand for the shame of it!"

"So you prefer to attack a slave, provided he does not fight back," I observed.

He glowered at me. "Coward!"

"You weren't so worried about your shame when you said he had been _sansorðinn,"_ Hedwig called out. "I don't think he wants to warm your bed, Evrard!"

That got a hearty laugh from the crowd.

I knew I could say that Evrard was only proving himself to be _argr_ , but I loathed the word. And besides, having Joscelin step in to fight my battles was doing little for my reputation.

There was one reasonable course of action left, and it was a gamble.

"I do not need his help to defend my own manhood," I stated, indicating Joscelin. "As you have seen, Evrard threw himself at me first, and I did but prove that he was as incompetent when it came to mastering me as he was at insulting me. If he wishes to continue our fight, I would be glad to oblige him. Joscelin, will you go?"

"He is my charge, and I have sworn an oath," Joscelin said stiffly, as I had known he would. "Allowing harm to come to him would dishonor me."

"Is such an oath common among you barbarians?" Evrard sneered. "Or do you know for a certainty that he is not what I say?"

He had walked into my carefully laid trap. With false surprise, I exclaimed, "Do you say now that Joscelin is _argr?"_ If Joscelin had been insulted directly, no one would question his right to seek recrimination.

"Challenge him to the _hólmganga!"_ shouted someone.

Now Evrard looked frightened. His allies seemed to have slipped back into the crowd, though I did not mistake that for a change of sides. "He cannot!"

"I do," Joscelin said quietly. He might not know of the exact custom, but he understood a duel of honor well enough.

"Gunter, will you let them make a mockery of me?"

"Oh, I think no man will mock you for fighting this wolf-cub in the _hólmganga,"_ laughed Gunter. "Will anyone say different?"

There was silence, albeit a sullen one, in the hall.

"So be it then! Tomorrow we will have the _hólmganga!"_

Phèdre shook her head at me when I approached. "You never intended to fight him in formal combat, did you?"

“Of course not.” I raised my eyebrows. “That would have been foolish.”

The rules and particulars of this Skaldi ritual have since been recorded by scholars, and so I will not bother repeating them here. Suffice it to say that it was not the way Joscelin was used to fighting, and that for this reason Evrard greatly underestimated him. When it came to it, Joscelin gave Evrard the chance to surrender and live, but Evrard would not, and so Joscelin killed him.

If I sound perfunctory, it is because I was not there. The memory of Anafiel's lifeless body was still fresh in my mind, and knowing the likely outcome I could not stand to watch, even if it was a man I despised bleeding out onto the snow.

Not that my slipping away once they had begun truly spared me. When I came out the next morning, Evard's corpse was still there, waiting for the scavengers. The sight made me sick, and I turned back.

Joscelin's standing among the Skaldi was much improved after this, and Evrard's accusations largely forgotten. I think that for all the unpleasantness in the language they did not much care what any man's sexual proclivities were so long as he was forthright and did not get in anyone's way.

There was, though, the occasional comment. I gathered that it was assumed that Phèdre and I were in love, and Joscelin was jealous. Jealous of whom, well, accounts varied.

I do not know if Joscelin heard them. At any rate, the time had arrived for the Allthing, and we were soon too busy to think much on idle gossip.

The long journey began to the place where the Allthing was held. It was a difficult time for Phèdre and I both, though we had different reasons for our discomfort. She as ever misliked the cold and would shiver even while furs were wrapped around her. I too covered my face and arms, not for the cold, which I could tolerate well enough when I got used to it, but for the strong winds and blindingly bright sun, when it was not behind clouds. My skin has always been sensitive, and the burns the wind left on my cheeks for days were deeply unpleasant.

Joscelin seemed to manage, though of course he would never have admitted aught else.

Being towards the back of the group, I did not hear what passed between Gunter and the Skaldi that greeted us when we arrived, or what instructions he gave, though it was clear he gave some.

What I saw was how he gestured to Phèdre and Joscelin, with no indication that he recalled my existence.

I looked around with a sick feeling in my stomach as we rode to where our lodgings would be. I had not seen so many Skaldi since they burned my village as a child. I saw the Skaldi children running about, and I wondered what their mothers told them at night.

Gunter took Brede and Joscelin and left, while the rest of us made camp. I ran up to Phèdre, but Hedwig shook her head. "No men are allowed in the women's quarters. Knud will show you to the men's bathing room if you wish."

Phèdre smiled at me weakly. I doubt my effort at the same was any more reassuring, but I had to try.

I did follow Knud to the bath, deciding it could only help my chances of impressing Selig enough to remain with Phèdre and Joscelin. The accommodations were far better than those we had become used to, and so with some small pleasure I set about filling the tub.

It was a shock to see my own reflection. I hardly recognized Alcuin no Delaunay in the gaunt face and dull dark eyes rippling below me.

Then again, how well did I know my own face? I'd only ever cared to see myself as my lord Anafiel Delaunay saw me, and loved myself best in the warmth of his regard.

And yet sometimes I wondered if he'd really seen me, Alcuin, at all.

I washed quickly but thoroughly, and combed my hair as best I could with my fingers, not wanting to be left behind if Phèdre was summoned.

As it was, I was finished before she was, but by standing near the women's hall I caught sight of Phèdre as Hedwig and Linnea brought her out, a serene vision in white with gold broaches.

"Phèdre!" I called, and she turned, her expression giving way to relief at my approach. "You look beautiful."

She smiled, a little, and reached to touch my cheek. "You as well. Would that we were readying ourselves for the Longest Night and not for this!"

 _"Joie,"_ I said solemnly, and her smile touched her eyes for a moment.

 _"Joie_ , Alcuin."

The doors of the great hall opened. I saw Joscelin, face still as Ganelon de la Courcel's Cassilines, and wondered what he thought of us now.

I did not see Waldemar Selig, not for what seemed like hours on end. And the longer we waited, behind tall broad-shouldered men whose Skaldic greetings blurred into one another, the more anxious I grew that he would have no use for me.

Finally, it was time for Gunter to move to the front and speak. Phèdre gripped my hand tightly.

"We bring you tribute, these three D'Angeline slaves, won with Skaldi gold and valor. These I give to you."

Phèdre and I were maneuvered into Selig's sight until we stood before him, Joscelin at our side. I do not think Waldemar Selig was surprised by our presence, but there is no question he was impressed by what he saw.

I knew without being told what Phèdre would do, and why. So I moved in perfect concert with her, bowing as she curtsied in the fluid motion reserved for foreign princes.

I did not dare look at Joscelin, though he must have bowed in his way. Selig's intent gaze was fixed on Phèdre, and Phèdre alone.

"She is trained to please kings, my lord," Gunter offered.

The Skaldi had no kings.

"And the lads?" Waldemar Selig took our measure. I stood tall and met his eyes as the thanes had done. I knew I must convince him of my importance.

"A lord's son and a warrior-prince,” Gunter declared. “The one was coveted by princesses and knows the tongues of many lands. The other is oath-sworn to them both and will serve you till death in exchange for their safety. Ask your thanes, if you do not believe."

"Is it so?" Waldemar Selig murmured. His eye alighted on me. "Is it so?"

"It is," I said, speaking loud enough for my voice to carry. Phèdre glanced at me quickly, as if to ask if I was sure I wished to take the lead, before looking to Selig again. "Joscelin Verreuil is one of the Cassiline Brotherhood, an order that traces its history to the founding of Terre d'Ange. They dedicate their lives to the service of their wards, and have long served the D'Angeline royal line."

As one who wished to make history, I judged Waldemar Selig would have an interest in it. And the symbolic value of taking such captives as we claimed to be spoke for itself. After all, there were Skaldi tales of princesses sold as thralls to great heroes.

"So you speak our tongue," Waldemar Selig said, a subtle excitement running through his face. "And they are trained to serve kings. What does it mean?" He was turning it over in his head, a much deeper thinker than his brethren. "How did one such as you come to be a slave? And why do you travel in such company?"

I hesitated. "For love."

It was a risky gamble. He might take it as an evasion (which, in part, it was) or even a tasteless joke.

But I saw understanding dawn on his face. "A true man of your people, then. I have heard something of your ways. Love is, I think, your greatest law."

"My lord," Phèdre said softly, "it is our only law."

 _Now_ he was surprised.

"How is it you both speak so well?"

"My nurse was a woman of Skaldia,"I said, which was true. "Phèdre learnt Caerdicci when she was small, and was interested in learning more tongues, and so I taught, and in the teaching kept myself from forgetting." That was a lie, but he seemed to accept it.

"Fay-dra." Waldemar Selig sounded out the name, turning to Phèdre. "That is what they call you?"

"Yes, my lord." Phèdre inclined her head. "Phèdre no Delaunay."

My mind whirled to recall what Gunter had said of us. Would Selig ask for my surname? Would he comment on it being identical to Phèdre's? It would certainly spoil the idea of Phèdre and I being lovers.

Maybe I should not have said it was for love.

"My lord, I knew too much."

I might have laughed, if there had been any humor in it. _No, Phèdre, you knew too little. He threw you to the tigress and hoped to slip past while she feasted on you._

And yet, Melisande Shahrizai had not thought to question me.

Perhaps she had not realized I survived. Perhaps she thought I had already served my purpose, and was now only Anafiel's beautiful boy.

Beautiful companion. Beautiful lover.

Perhaps she thought it would be greater sport this way.

Selig was questioning Joscelin now, as Phèdre translated. I will not say I was unsurprised when Selig began to address us in broken D'Angeline, but I was not as shocked as I might have been before he considered my answer.

 _I have heard something of your ways_ , he had said. From the way he mispronounced verb endings, I would have wagered that he had _read_ something, and I would have won that wager.

Waldemar Selig was a man of many talents. He spoke Caerdicci as well, far more fluently, which was how he managed to communicate with Joscelin. But before he finished his inquiries, he turned back to me.

"You have taught Skaldi to Faydra. You will teach D'Angeline to me."

Relief washed over me. "Yes, my lord."

Waldemar Selig frowned, and my heart nearly stopped. "Strange to think that such a fragile looking boy could win the hearts of women. But you have come this far, and so I think you must be more than you seem."

 _That makes two of us_ , I thought, but stayed silent. This proved to be the right decision, as Selig returned to Joscelin, and announced he would test these warrior skills.

Needless to say, Joscelin passed the test.

I have never known such an ominous welcome.

They feasted that night, the men who followed Waldemar Selig. I sat near him and Joscelin attended three paces behind his other shoulder, in the Cassiline manner, while Phèdre served him mead. Though we had both done such service in our youth, it was a better place for Phèdre than I, affording her a reason to observe Selig closely rather than lower her eyes modesty. And Phèdre had, of course, learned how to do such things with grace when she was a child in the Night Court.

For my part, I ate a small part of what was offered to me and did not look long in any particular direction. But I kept my ears open.

As the men grew drunker, so did their aggressive natures bubble to the surface. But Waldemar Selig was temperate, and deliberate in his words and actions. He drunk with them, but he did not lose his wits-- and he did not permit his men to fight each other within his sight.

So when he seized Phèdre by the hair and made her bend the knee and thank him for it, I knew he did it with clear eyes and a sober head.

I loathed him for it.

Where Phèdre was sent after the feast was done, I did not see, but Joscelin and I were shown to the same chamber, not far from Selig's own quarters. Waldemar Selig's own guard, the White Brethren occupied the same lodging if not the same room.

"Why would he put us together?" Joscelin wondered, inspecting the room as he paced.

"It's a prison," I sat flatly. "We are near the most loyal and deadly of his men, and this door is bolted."

He tried it himself, but I had not spoken false. "Damn them to hell!"

"Sometimes I think this _is_ hell." I sat on the pallet nearest me and began to gather up the blankets for sleep. It felt as if three days had passed since I last slept.

There was precious little light in our chamber and so all I could see was that Joscelin had stilled.

Abruptly, he spoke. "Why were you all by yourself in Delaunay's household when we came in?"

My stomach twisted. "Pure chance, as near as I can recall." It would have been so easy for it to have fallen out otherwise. Just one choice made differently, and I would not have been in that hall at that time for that attacker. "I was with him almost the entire day. If I had not left at that precise moment, I would have been in the library."

Joscelin sat down on the other pallet. I wondered how long he had been itching to ask these questions. "Why weren't you?"

"Because I had to piss," I said, irritably. "Because he wished to go to the library much earlier, but I persuaded him to go to the bedchamber first. I am sure you can imagine for yourself what transpired there."

I knew without having to see that he was bright red. "I... I don’t wish to. It's only that I thought you might have… seen something. Something Phèdre and I did not."

I closed my eyes. "I'm tired, Joscelin. And there's nothing you can ask me that I haven't already asked myself a thousand times. It's useless. Just go to sleep."

The Allthing was in the morning.

I was woken when Waldemar Selig's White Brethren banged on the door and unbolted it for us, a none too subtle sign to get up and out. There was a frisson of excitement in the air, but it had little to do with our presence.

Joscelin and I were herded into a storeroom near the great hall, where I was relieved to see Phèdre already sitting on a barrel.

Joscelin immediately set about examining this room as he had done our prison the night before, while Phèdre and I embraced quickly.

"Do you think they've started?" she asked. We could hear that there was talking, though it was impossible to make out what was being said.

"Not yet, but they will soon." I laid flat on my stomach by the immense door, with my ear to it, which was little better in the way of acoustics. "What are we going to do?"

"Find an escape route," Joscelin muttered, mistaking the subject of our conversation.

I got to my knees and found Phèdre standing on a barrel, sizing Joscelin up.

I followed her gaze to the ceiling, to the rafters. "We're going to need more barrels."

Joscelin turned at that, confused. "What do you mean you--"

 _"Ssh!"_ Phèdre and I hissed as one.

As we assembled the barrels in rapid silence, Joscelin began to see the shape of the plan. "You're both mad."

"I should go," I said to Phèdre, ignoring him. "I've better balance." Lessons with the tumbling master seemed so long ago, but one did not easily forget.

"I've better flexibility," she returned, which was true, even if she only said it to assuage her offended pride. "And my hair will blend into the shadows."

"If they're looking at the ceiling, we're already ruined," I pointed out.

"Are the two of you honestly fighting over--"

"Oh, fine," Phèdre relented. "You're slighter at least. Get on the barrel. Joscelin, when Alcuin's high enough, you need to lift him on your shoulders, like the Eglantine tumblers, and boost him up to the rafters so he can hear."

He came to us uncertainly. "You can't do this." Still, he helped with the heavy barrels, which were much easier for him to move than us.

"On the contrary," I said, my heart pounding. "It's what we are here for."

I knew Phèdre felt it too, the mixture of exhilaration and relief for finally being able to put our abilities to the test. Perhaps she had sensed that this was what I needed to prove my worth, my reason for living.

At any rate, Joscelin cursed, and climbed up beside me. "Take my cloak, at least. It must be filthy up there; no need to show them where you've been."

As there were already loose strands of my white hair clinging to the black wool along with gods only knew what else, I accepted it, and took his hand.

Phèdre clenched her fists and nodded, and up I went to the rafters.

As soon as I was lying on one of those massive beams, I peered over the edge and remembered I had no head for heights. My stomach churned, but I was hardly going to let that stop me now. Resolving not to look again, I began to edge my way forward towards the hall.

Joscelin was right-- the beams were disgusting. I only hoped my hair wouldn't get caught in a splinter, or retain some unspeakable globule. But seeing this (and feeling this, and _smelling_ this _,_ dear Naamah) I doubted the Skaldi would ever guess we prissy D'Angelines would deign to do such a thing.

Provided I didn't fall. And I wouldn't.

I made it within earshot just in time, it seemed, for Waldemar Selig had begun to speak now, a clearly well prepared speech that began with the history of the Allthing.

They were loud, but I inched just a bit further forward to be sure, and pressed my cheek against the grimy wood, closing my eyes to concentrate on what they were saying.

Waldemar Selig's exact choice of words no longer matters. He spoke of glory, of conquering, of commanding respect as well as fear. He admitted that Caerdicci Unitas was already wary and prepared to defend themselves.

And then he spoke of Ysandre de la Courcel.

He had d'Aiglemort's letter, and the gist of that plan we had already guessed-- let the Skaldi into Camlach, allow Isidore d'Aiglemort to appear to succeed and broker a peace in exchange for d'Aiglemort's accession to the throne and marriage to Ysandre. The Skaldi would take part of Terre d'Ange, and that was all.

That was, of course, not enough for Waldemar Selig. Why take a piece when the whole was there for the taking? he asked. Why, indeed. Melisande Shahrizai was a fool if she had not expected the tide to turn against d'Aiglemort's arrogance.

Having heard the specifics of their planned movements, I began to edge my way backwards, to the storeroom. I needed to be back long before the Allthing had concluded, and now they were settling disputes among each other. The trouble was, I could not see behind me to know where I was going, and I did not dare try and roll onto my back to make it easier. Before I had led with my legs-- now I spread out my hands to push myself back, and back, and back.

"Almost!" Phèdre whispered from somewhere below my stomach.

"Hurry up!" Joscelin hissed.

"You try it!" I hissed back. Still, I was entirely over the storeroom now, and managed to sit up, slowly, so as not to get dizzy from the height. "I'm going to slide and try to hang on from my fingers, so you'd best get ready to catch me."

The quicker I did it, the less time I would have to get nervous. I swung my legs over the side of the beam, braced my hands on either side of me, made sure Joscelin was standing below. Then I turned and got on my knees, and slid down, intending to grasp the beam as my body fell, but the sudden shock of my weight was too much, and I only succeeded for a moment before my hands buckled and I fell.

Joscelin didn't so much catch me as put himself in the way so I crashed into him, nearly elbowing him in the nose.

 _"Alcuin!"_ Phèdre pulled me from his arms and seized me tight around the waist. I clung to her just as fiercely, breathing heavily from the shock. "They didn't see you?"

I shook my head. "They're going to use d'Aiglemort as a dupe. It's as we thought-- he thinks he can control them, but he has no idea of the scope of Selig’s ambition. They mean to conquer Terre d'Ange." _And bring down Ysandre de la Courcel._

Phèdre shuddered in my embrace. "We have to find a way to warn the Crown."

"We will." It was Joscelin, softer than I could remember him being before. "I swear to you, I will get us out of here."

I remembered I was still wearing his cloak, and pulled away from Phèdre to pull it off. "Thank you, Joscelin. You've been invaluable."

"Don't speak as though you're going to die tonight," Phèdre said sharply. “Joscelin _is_ invaluable.”

Joscelin took back his cloak. "I'm not the one who deserves praise." There was a new look in his eyes, a kind of thoughtful consideration. At the time I did not think much on it, only noted that it was there.

We worked rapidly to set the room back to rights, terrified that the Allthing would end and they would find us rolling barrels, but time went on and they did not burst in, not even after we had finished.

I caught Joscelin watching me, more than once.

Phèdre saw it too, and raised her eyebrows at me. I shrugged, not wanting to make much of it.

"For a Cassiline," Phèdre remarked, "you're not so dull nor haughty as I thought you were."

"For a scion of the Misguided, you're not so bad yourself," Joscelin said dryly.

The next day, I rose when Joscelin did, and we were ready when the White Brethren came to let us out. We waited what seemed a small eternity for Waldemar Selig to emerge from his chambers, Phèdre at his heels. He did not address us at first, and I did not dare do more than make eye contact with Phèdre, who gave little more than a nod to indicate she was unharmed. We all went to the great hall to eat, and then, once he had finished, Selig looked at me and said, "You will begin to teach me today."

"Yes, my lord."

After that, he went his own way, to talk amongst his people, and he brought Joscelin with him. Phèdre seemed to have little appetite, and excused herself before I could ask after her.

I had no idea what to do with myself, and so I left the great hall not long after her, having no wish to speak with anyone else.

Outside it was a cloudy day, which I preferred, though the strong winds tested my woolen clothes to their limits. The more I walked, the warmer I came to be, and so though I kept Phèdre within my line of vision, I thought I would make my way towards her by and by, and so give her room for her own thoughts if she wished to be alone.

And then I saw her stumble into one of the unfamiliar thanes.

She pulled away immediately, but he grabbed her by the wrist and laughed at her distress.

I broke into a run, seeing her struggle in earnest as he twisted her arm behind her back. It was as if I was in a nightmare, fighting to move fast enough but unable to do it, desperate, wild, _no, not this, not her, don’t you dare!_

Others were looking on, but as she looked around frantically, they moved towards the spectacle and began to call out suggestions for what he should do, with whoops of encouragement and more laughter.

He threw Phèdre to the ground, face first in the filthy snow, dragging up her skirts to expose her, and my long held composure shattered in an instant.

 _"Get away from her!"_ I screamed, hurling myself at the Skaldi man.

I am not Joscelin, drilled in combat until instinct supersedes memory. I have no doubt that I took blows in that fight that he would have easily avoided. But I hit hard, and in my rage I had no qualms about using dirty tricks. I daresay the Skaldi underestimated how much damage the "half-woman" thrall could deal out, to their detriment.

Still, I was vastly outnumbered, and might well have died a second time if Phèdre had not seized me from behind and cried out _"Alcuin, no!"_

One of the Skaldi I recognized was in the fray now, dragging them off us with dogged determination. Knud, I remembered, faintly. But he was only one man more, and Phèdre's face was buried in my neck, her whole body shaking with terror. Her fear only made me angrier, but I was drowning in their brutality, suffocating even as I struggled, until I heard Waldemar Selig's voice say, "What is this?"

Everyone stopped immediately, and I gasped for air.

I saw Joscelin ride upon a horse behind Selig, repressed fury radiating from his being. It was just as well Selig had spoken when he did, or else Joscelin might well have done something drastic.

Knud was the only one who had the presence of mind to answer. "Found the Gambrivii trying to mount the lass, Lord Selig. The boy saw it too and went mad trying to protect her. He loves her, you see."

Waldemar Selig frowned as he looked at me. "I never learned your name."

"Alcuin," I said. "My lord."

"Al-kyu-an." He turned to the men gathered around us. "Who spoke against this? No one? Would you encourage a man to steal my horse? My sword? No? This woman, too, is my property, and mine alone."

They hung their heads, though one said, "The boy had no right to attack us."

"Alkyuan was defending what is mine. You do not intend to attack them otherwise, yes?"

"I do not, my lord."

Selig nodded, knowing I would give no other answer. "If he does, he will be put to death. Are you satisfied?"

There were murmurs of assent.

"Then go about your business."

After the men left, he questioned Phèdre, and reprimanded her for walking about the steading alone, as if it were her fault he was attended by beasts. As for me, he only said, "Do not love her too dearly, Alkyuan. She is mine and not yours."

"I understand, my lord," I replied, hating him.

"Good. Josslin, inspect them for injuries, and then return to me with Alkyuan. We will begin our lessons." _  
_

When they were gone, at long last, I began to weep, and then to sob, with great uneven breaths I could hardly bear to draw.

This time, I had mattered. This time, I had not been too late.

And once again, Kushiel had snatched me back from death.

Phèdre held me through it all, and stroked my hair.

"Are you hurt?" Joscelin asked.

I laughed, a little. "Yes."

He knelt beside us as Phèdre touched my cheek. "Where?"

Better to ask where I did _not_ hurt. Bruises, cuts-- it was a wonder no one managed to break my nose and spoil my face for good. I was surprised at the relief I felt at this, since what beauty I possessed had long since served its purpose.

Anafiel's beautiful boy.

Betimes I'd hated him for it.

Joscelin put his hand on my forehead, and I was startled out of memory by the warmth of his sweaty palm. "No fever, and I don't see any new head injuries. If we only had truly hot water at our disposal…"

"Then the three of us could have a long hot soak together, but somehow I doubt that's in our future," I said dryly.

To my surprise, Joscelin flushed.

"Hot water and a bath large enough to lie down in. It seems an unspeakable luxury now," Phèdre said glumly, her arm still around me. "Small wonder they want what we have. What we _had_ , in Terre d'Ange."

There was never a more patriotic D'Angeline alive than Phèdre. I kissed her cheek. "What we will have again." I didn't believe it then, not really, but one of us had to.

"Phèdre, did they hurt you?" Joscelin persisted.

"Only my pride." Phèdre lay her head on my shoulder. "You should not keep Waldemar Selig waiting."

I saw Joscelin was not going to move unless we made him, so I stood up and helped Phèdre to her feet. "I won't be a pretty sight, but I'm ready."

"You're always a pretty sight!" Phèdre protested. "Besides, a well placed scar can be very dashing, even if most of the Night Court’s canons don’t account for it."

"Come with us," Joscelin said to her. "I was remiss in letting you leave my sight."

"Knud will look after me." Phèdre gave a wry smile. "But thank you."

It didn't please him, but Phèdre had no intention of letting him hover over her, and to protest would be an insult to Knud, who had done no wrong. So, reluctantly, Joscelin accepted her decision and mounted his horse again.

I climbed up behind Joscelin, and we rode back to the great hall

It was time for me to teach Waldemar Selig D'Angeline.

The first thing I saw in his quarters was one of the books I had read as part of my curriculum before I entered into Naamah's service.

"I am learning from Faydra as well," Selig explained, seeing my surprise. "She may teach me what a woman knows and you may teach me as one man to another."

"Where do you wish me to begin?" I said, for what else could I say?

Geography, it seemed. He was familiar enough with basic grammar and sentence structure, but he had me drill him on names of topographical features and how to ask if something was good to eat or where to find shelter. This was no idle directive-- this was a lesson on how to give orders on a battlefield and survive using the D'Angeline tongue.

I was not surprised then, when he brought out the map he had of Terre d'Ange and began to question me on its veracity.

Of course I lied, to the best of my ability. I did not know all our military advantages to begin with, which was just as well, but I hoped that if it came to it, I might mislead him enough to give Terre d'Ange some advantage.

I was minded of Anafiel's lessons more than once. _Somehow, my lord, you neglected to prepare me for this outcome.  
_

What might he think of me now, if he could see me in this place? Would he worry, or would he laugh at the absurdity? Both, most likely. He’d love the idea of it, a king of warriors attended to by two whores and a Cassiline.

_Kingdoms may rise and fall upon the strength of a calculated whisper in the right bedchamber, sweet._

After the lesson, we went to eat, and Joscelin (who had been outside the door with the Brethren) joined us. Selig made sure Phèdre sat on his left and I on his right, which may have made him feel a conqueror but did nothing but breed resentment among his followers for us.

Still, in that moment I hardly cared.

What did trouble me was that Joscelin did not eat a single morsel.

The next day, we rose again, were escorted again, met Phèdre at the dining table again, and again Joscelin went with Selig.

"That's the second meal Joscelin has refused," I observed.

"I'm sure he'll say he does it for Cassiel," Phèdre groused. "I wish he observed the people that may decide our fate as doggedly as he does every detail of his damned Cassiline vows."

Waldemar Selig intended to go through the pages of _Trois Milles Joies_ with Phèdre, she said, and though this did lend itself to some anatomical vocabulary, we both knew his curiosity was more carnal than scholastic.

Again he brought me to his quarters and reviewed what we had begun the previous day, his comprehension alarmingly rapid. Again we pored over maps and place names, though I was able to waste some valuable time by explaining why each province was called as it was, and which gods were most associated with which lands. Again it grew dark and we repaired to the great hall to eat.

And once again, Joscelin refused food.

"You've begun to fast," I remarked that evening, when we were alone in our chamber. "Why?"

"I've failed you both," Joscelin said bitterly. "I was not there when you needed my protection. I allowed you both to be injured. You might have _died_ without Selig's intervention! Too many times I've failed you. Better I should die!"

 _Better for whom?_ I wanted to ask, but I knew it was fruitless.

Instead I said, "To fail and persevere is a harder task than any you will meet on the practice field. Keep your sword. _We_ cannot afford its loss."

He laughed, bitterly. "Must you recall Delaunay's every word?"

"You follow Cassiel’s laws," I said coldly. "I follow his. And so long as you intend to keep your vow and protect and serve, you do as well."

In the morning, he ate, though it was not much. Waldemar Selig grew wroth with him, for Joscelin refused to teach Selig to fight in the Cassiline style.

"You idiot!" Phèdre hissed. "What are you saying?"

"Lord Selig," I said, in an undertone, as I was still placed beside him. "I will make him change his mind, if you do give me this chance. Confine him to the chamber where he and I sleep for three days, and when it is done he will agree to teach you."

Selig considered me, with a faint amusement. “Well, it can do no harm. But if you fail, he dies. Understood?”

Joscelin was stubborn, to the point of destruction. But while Phèdre railed against his immovability, I thought I saw a way forward, however improbable.

He was, after all, D'Angeline.

"You're shivering," I observed the next night.

Joscelin feigned sleep, but his uneven breath betrayed him. Letting him keep what little he had of his precious pride, I rose without speaking, and covered him in one of my furs.

With such small gestures, I gained his attention, even if he complained every step of the way.

"Don't put yourself at risk for me," he said sharply.

"If you hope to be a proper Companion, perfect or no, you must eat and conserve your strength,” I said, ignoring his sulking. “And do as Selig tells you once your punishment is at an end."

In truth, by the second day Joscelin had agreed to all Selig could wish for. The rest of the confinement only served my own purpose, which I had decided was still worth pursuing.

He would not try to kill himself again if I strengthened his reasons for living.

"Your hair is knotting again. Let me comb it out."

"It doesn't matter," Joscelin muttered, but he turned to give me access.

I knelt behind him, closer than I truly needed to be, and carefully, patiently, unwound the long braid he had been keeping his hair in.

I had no real comb, but had conspired to make one from discarded materials. Whether his long flaxen hair would be free from all tangles was not my primary concern, after all.

Slowly I slid my hand up his shoulder blade, as my other hand drew the makeshift comb down the thick tresses at the back of his head, where he would feel the sensation most acutely. I felt him inhale sharply, and I smiled to myself.

The last time I had combed Joscelin's hair, I begun at the ends, which is good if you wish to truly undo knots with as little pain as possible. This time instead I combed from the roots to the nape of his neck, with a hand that was firm, not rough. I wanted him attuned to my every touch.

It had been many years since I was that green boy who asked Phèdre if the caress of summer wind truly worked. Now, I set aside the comb and gently moved my hands to his temples, fingers spread to barely brush the crown of his head.

"Alcuin?" Joscelin whispered.

With torturous leisure, I drew my fingers down, just as I had learned, only stopping at the shoulders since thick wool rather watered down the effect. I heard his breath slow, and, almost imperceptibly, felt him lean back into my touch.

_I could have you now. But instead I will make you yearn, and burn all the more for waiting._

I took up the comb again as if nothing had transpired. "Almost finished now."

The next morning, Joscelin was escorted out with me, and he began to teach at last, but it became immediately evident that he had not initially refused Selig's demand out of some Cassiline vow of secrecy. Rather, it had been a statement of fact. Joscelin could not teach a grown warrior, set in his ways, an entirely different style of fighting.

Selig grew frustrated, and slowly, finally, accepted that it was fruitless.

That night Joscelin sat in silent disgrace in our chambers, until I arrived.

"It is cold enough to freeze a rabbit solid," I stated calmly, draping the fur around both of our shoulders. "Better to conserve heat and warmth together."

Joscelin flushed, but made no argument.

"I'm not putting myself at risk for you now," I reminded him, sweetly. Mierette no Orchis had taught me well the value of a smile and a skillfully deployed joke.

"I'm glad," Joscelin said hoarsely.

Leave no stone unturned. Do not let opportunity slip through your fingers. This is what Anafiel taught me.

And so I kissed him.

I was prepared for the possibility that he might flinch, or pull back, though I had laid the path very enticingly. I was pleasantly surprised when instead he leaned into me. I deepened the kiss, and far from resisting, he responded eagerly, his arms moving around me.

I have no genius with patrons, as Phèdre does. But I knew then that this desire was not new born-- I had not sparked a flame into existence, but stoked the pre-existing fires into this considerable heat.

Anafiel had always said I underestimated my own charms.

Where I led, he followed, with an earnest wonder that I recognized all too well. It was just as well the light was dim, so he could not see that the more ardently he worshiped my body, the less present with him I was, mired in guilt and bitter nostalgia.

When I closed my eyes, I saw Anafiel's face.

Afterwards, Joscelin sighed into my chest. I stroked his hair, sensing he wished to talk.

"I’ve dishonored my vows.”

"Cassiel served Elua," I reminded him. "And you know Elua bid us love in our way."

"I know." He sighed again, and burrowed his face against my breast. "But the Prefect would never see it that way."

"The Prefect doesn't need to know."

Joscelin flinched at that, and for a moment I did not understand why. His face, so close to mine, was painfully vulnerable and sorrowful all at once, and at once I knew just how alike we were in this, if nothing else.

"Do not ask for more of me than I can give," I whispered.

I saw him swallow hard, before he laid his head beside mine again.

 _For now,_ I thought.

It was not Joscelin who had me in my dreams.

We were granted more freedom about Selig's encampment, which was just as well, for it meant they took less notice of our movements.

Lessons with Selig continued apace. I could not fail to notice that many of his questions now concerned Phèdre, his tutor in the evenings. If he did not love her yet, he would, I knew.

"There are parts of this book," he indicated _Trois Milles Joies_ , "describing ways for men to couple with men. Are you familiar with those, Alkyuan?"

I felt sick, but my bearing did not change, countenance firmly fixed on his fledging writings in D'Angeline, which he had set me to correcting. "I am, my lord. Among other things."

"And that does not shame you?"

"No more or less than it shames Phèdre, my lord."

He laughed at that. "A quick wit! Faydra has it too. But you are the elder, no?"

"In years alone," I said wryly. In truth, we were close enough in age that I did not think much of my supposed seniority. And in Naamah's ways, Phèdre had always been senior to me.

"Modesty does not become a man," Waldemar Selig said, with certainty. "If you hoped once to win her, you must have had reason to think you could do it. Are you god-touched as well, then?"

I shook my head. "Only a good scholar."

"You do have a certain woman's way about you," he mused. "Not like Josslin's."

"Lord Selig," I said, tightly, "I assure you regardless of what I do or do not know, I am every inch as much a man as Joscelin."

Oh, he liked that. "Very good! I thought there must be iron in your blood. Perhaps even Skaldic iron, no?"

Waldemar Selig did not press the point, but I had been trained to consider every outcome. There might well come a day when his intellectual curiosity became too great, and he’d ask for a demonstration of what I could provide that Phèdre could not.

The thought made me sick to my stomach with dread, but it was a possibility I had to keep in mind. Particularly once they told us Joscelin would now have a hut to himself.

Joscelin did not like it.

When I told him of my suspicions, Joscelin seized my shoulder. "You _can't!"_

"You do not own me, Joscelin," I said coldly.

His face sank. "That's not what I… you don't have to shame yourself by--"

"Don't fool yourself into thinking you're protecting my _virtue_." I spat out the word like the bitter mockery it was. "This is about you, and your own desires. If I choose to go to Selig-- and _I_ will choose, not you-- it is because there may be valuable information and opportunity gained. If you wish to see Terre d'Ange again, I suggest you keep your petty jealousy to yourself. I promised you nothing."

"Then why even tell me?"

The question caught me off guard. "What?"

"You knew I would tell you not to do it," Joscelin said, slowly, measuring my face. "You had to know. But you still told me."

"There was no one else to tell," I said, quietly.

"Not Phèdre?"

I flinched. Phèdre knew just how much the idea repulsed me. I could never tell her and feign indifference, she would ferret it out with ease.

But if it did happen, it would hurt Joscelin more to find out after the fact just how far I was willing to go than to be told now that it was a possibility.

"The more fool me, for thinking she was the only one who took pleasure in pain," Joscelin said bitterly.

I'd only wanted him to understand, if I had to do it. To know that I did it because I had to and not because I wanted to.

I'd only wanted him to know who I was.

It had been so exhausting, trying to live up to my patrons’ expectations.

I never wanted to be with someone who put me on a pedestal for worship again.

In the end, it didn't even matter. If Waldemar Selig ever intended to indulge himself with me, he did not do so in the weeks that followed. Phèdre saw more of Joscelin than I did, which granted, was not much.

We did begin to talk again, though we did not discuss our argument. Joscelin seemed to be trying his hardest to forget what had passed between us that night, and if he was intent on casting himself as my moral savior I was inclined to let him.

But then, the day before a great hunt, a messenger came for Waldemar Selig.

"Selig has a letter with the Shahrizai seal on it," Phèdre whispered. "It's Melisande, I know it. She intends to play both sides!"

"But how would she profit if the Skaldi conquer Terre d'Ange?" I was thinking out loud.

"Perhaps she intends to rule Waldemar Selig as she did her husbands and lovers before him," Phèdre said bitterly. "The Queen in all but name."

I shook my head. "She would be hated by everyone, a known traitor and backstabber. It doesn't make sense."

_It has to be a long game, longer than either side can fathom. Somehow she would turn Skaldi victory around to a true victory for her._

"You need to find out what's inside that letter, Phèdre," I said quietly. "Is it an empty promise, or are they exchanging information?"

_Does she know that the Skaldi won't invade until summer? Does she plan on being conveniently absent, or staging a daring escape? Is there another party in this conspiracy?_

_Who is the trump card in Melisande’s hand?_

One thing I was sure of. Melisande did not know about the Alban agreement. If she knew that there was another warrior culture that could be called to play on the board against the Skaldi, she would not risk her alliances in Terre d'Ange.

"Either way, the Crown falls," Phèdre was saying. "We can't afford to waste any more time. Can you go to Joscelin, and ask him if he's able to kill a man with his hands?"

I bit my lip. "He won't like it."

"Well, _I_ don't like it, but do you have another plan for our escape?"

From one of Delaunay's pupils to another, it was a genuine question. I shook my head. "We'll need to make it so he's never seen escorting both of us at once. It's too unusual a sight."

As I had thought, Joscelin reacted to the plan with horror. "To kill a man in cold blood? That's murder, Alcuin! I cannot do it."

"Cannot or will not?" I asked, evenly. "You've broken your vows before. There is more here at stake than your place in the Brotherhood!"

"It isn't that simple," Joscelin hissed. He looked haggard. "I know what's at stake. But it's still murder."

I clenched my fists and forced myself to remain composed. "I have told you before, but I will say it again. If Ysandre de la Courcel dies, I will hold you responsible. If nothing else, do this thing for _me." For the love you bear me, if it still remains._

He closed his eyes. "Tell Phèdre I will do what she asks."

I turned to go, but he said, "Wait."

"What is it?"

Joscelin looked as if he were at war with himself. "At least tell me why Ysandre de la Courcel commands such loyalty," he said, finally.

"Because that's what Delaunay promised. To her father."

I left, quickly, because I didn't want him to see the tears in my eyes. These tears were mine and mine alone, no matter how many people knew the cause.

The morning of the hunt dawned.

 _We must be mad_ , I thought as I watched the thanes arm themselves. _After so long, how will we ever find our way home?_

And that wasn't right either. Our home was no longer our home, not without Anafiel. Even if we survived, we would have to start all over again.

But anything had to be better than this.

The way Phèdre had arranged it, she would fill Selig's saddlebags with supplies, then ask to visit Joscelin. Joscelin would kill her guard and steal his clothing, and they would return to the great hall with Joscelin disguised as the guard. I would take the supplies from Selig's room and meet Phèdre and Joscelin in the hall under the pretense of bringing the saddlebags to Selig.

It would have been less risky if I could have convincingly disguised myself as one of the Skaldi men, but my build was all wrong, even if we tried to make my distinctive hair less visible or white. At least the sight of Phèdre and I with a guard was not all that outlandish.

For now, I went to my chamber. Or rather, I appeared to return to my chamber, but once I saw no one was watching, I slipped into Selig's.

There was an unlocked cupboard, in which I discovered the Cassiline arms Joscelin prized so highly. Phèdre had not accounted for them, but I knew how he'd hate to leave them. His vambraces, daggers and so on fit well enough in the bags, but I was at a momentary loss as to what to do with his sword.

While I tried not to panic, I saw Melisande's letter in the saddlebags. Proof, Phèdre must have thought. And yet Selig would be sure to notice its absence, and grow suspicious as to the confidentiality of his correspondence. Better to leave it.

Then again, I wasn't sure where Phèdre had taken it from. If Selig had a good memory, he might discover it had been tampered with either way. But it was chancier to remove it entirely. I put it in the cupboard by where Joscelin's arms had been, and dragged the saddlebags to the door. I was out of time, and I needed that blasted sword.

My remaining idea was utterly mad but it was the best I could do. Making sure the sword was firmly sheathed, I lifted up the back of my tunic and slid the length of it down one trouser leg, until the hilt was not visible above my cloak's collar. I grabbed Joscelin's belt and fastened it about my chest to keep the sword in place, the blade resting just above the back of my knee. It would hinder my movements if I tried to bend, but as long as I was standing straight and kept my thick cloak on the deception might hold. It only needed to last up until Joscelin could reclaim the blade, after all.

With some difficulty, I managed to hoist the saddlebags without bending, and slung them over my shoulder where they slammed against the sword hilt. I winced, and set out.

I was sickeningly aware of what an odd figure I cut, trying not to move in such a way that would jostle the sword and hoisting saddlebags that I had never carried before. The relief when I reached my own chamber was short-lived; I dared not remove the sword and I could not sit down with it thus concealed. So I dropped the saddlebags on the ground and leaned against the wall, and waited for Phèdre.

It was a long, torturous wait.

At last I heard movement.

"Alcuin?" Phèdre's voice.

I pushed myself off the wall and opened the door. "Help me with these saddlebags. Where's Joscelin?"

"Looking for his Cassiline arms in Selig's room."

I made a frustrated noise. "I already took them! Get him out of there!"

A few rushed moments later Phèdre was opening the saddlebags and Joscelin was rummaging through them to replace much of his Skaldi effects with Cassiline ones. "Where's my sword?"

I turned my back to them and pulled off my cloak. "Against my marque. Hurry up!"

As I unbuckled the belt and tossed it on the ground, I felt Joscelin touch my back gingerly, finding the hilt. "You should have stowed it underneath your cloak. "

"My hands were already full." I yanked up the tunic. "Take it."

Once he had, I fixed my clothing and took the last of his arms out of the saddlebags. Phèdre gasped. "Melisande's letter!"

"I put it away."

Joscelin and I took the saddlebags, and Phèdre led the way out.

At Selig's stables, we had a small scare when one of the carls came running up to us, eager to serve Joscelin, who they took for a White Brethren by his clothes. Phèdre kept her head, and at her subtle direction Joscelin ordered them to make ready three horses for us and fill another bag with fodder for them. I watched with wonder as they eagerly made our escape possible.

There was a pony for Phèdre that she could mount, but I needed Joscelin's assistance to clamber onto the horse the carls had thoughtfully led out for me. As he did so, I muttered in D'Angeline, "The hunt went to the south end of the lake, and up the mountain trail."

He gave no sign of acknowledgement, but when he mounted his horse, Joscelin did not hesitate to ride in the direction I had indicated.

Of course, we did not intend to find the hunt at all.

"How shall we do this?" Joscelin asked, when we were around the lake.

"Follow the trail until they can't see us from the steading," Phèdre suggested.

"We need to go west," I added. I'd seen Selig's map enough times to know that much.

Phèdre shivered with the cold. "I've no idea how we're going to make it all the way back. And I didn't think to get a tent."

"You found us a way out, I'll find us a way home," Joscelin said, his firm tone oddly reassuring. "Remember, I was raised in the mountains."

When we left the trail, Joscelin had us wait with the horses some distance away while he covered our tracks, and we rode in tense silence.

Until we encountered the White Brethren who stood guard at the edge of Waldemar Selig's territory.

There were two of them, and they were momentarily confused by Joscelin's stolen attire. That moment was enough for him to cut them down.

When he turned from the corpses, I saw the melancholy in his face and it touched me. These were not men he had liked or even truly known, but they were men all the same, and he did not like being the instrument of their deaths.

I nudged my mount towards him, but he was already on his way, intent to make more distance between Waldemar Selig and us. At least Joscelin seemed confident in his bearings.

I hadn't the faintest idea whether we were going in the right direction or not, and the further we rode, the more I feared the snow and wind would develop into a blizzard and there would only be white as far as the eye could see.

But they did not, and to my relief Phèdre had seen Selig's maps as well, and managed to work out when we had veered off course.

When the sun had almost disappeared, Joscelin slowed his horse and suggested we make camp while we could still see.

Indeed, by the time Phèdre and I had dismounted, I was beginning to doubt we could.

"Is it safe to make a fire?" Phèdre wondered.

"I don't see that we have much choice," I replied.

Somewhere up ahead, Joscelin paused. "I think I may have found a cave. Phèdre, tend to the horses. Alcuin, gather some wood for the fire. I'll see if it's safe."

As soon as Joscelin left us, Phèdre glanced at me. There was a world of questioning in that glance, none of which I was sure how to answer.

"I think he's forgiven you," she remarked, when she had finished with the horses.

I snorted. "Forgiven me?"

"For whatever led him to stop speaking to you before." Phèdre's tone was mild, but I knew she knew somewhat had passed between us before that point. "Or are we pretending it wasn't so?"

I shook my head. "He may be difficult to wound in combat but he takes cuts easily in matters of the heart. It was never my intention to hurt him."

"I believe it." Phèdre sighed. "A complicated man, our Cassiline."

We worked in contemplative silence.

"I tried to kill Waldemar Selig last night," Phèdre said suddenly.

I stared at her. "You did _what?"_

"I woke in the night and the knife was right beside me." She shuddered. "But he woke. Maybe it's true, maybe he really is proof against harm."

"They would have killed you," I said quietly.

"I know. But it would have been sure, that way. The Skaldi would never unite without him."

Suddenly, I was furious. "And that's all you can think of, sacrificing yourself for the greater good? You would have left me too, but for Selig's good fortune?"

Phèdre looked as if I had struck her. Which, in a sense, I had. "Wouldn't you have done the same? It's what Delaunay trained us for."

 _"Damn_ Delaunay!" I shouted, not caring who heard me. "He died for _nothing_ and you know it as well as I! But you refuse to see it because you loved him too well!"

Phèdre's eyes shone with unshed tears. "And you didn't? _All you've done you've done for him_ , isn't that so?"

I hated her in that moment, flinging my own words back at me with the damnably perfect recall we shared. "You know that I did. But I know what he was! And I know where he failed." I was shaking with the force of it, all that I had felt since he died and been too afraid to say to myself, let alone to Phèdre.

One thing more I still could not say to her, thought we both felt it hanging in the air.

_I knew him better than you ever did._

It was at that moment that Joscelin returned. "Stop behaving like the spoiled brats I took you for at first and keep your voices down!"

We fell silent, sullen but appropriately chastised. The irony of Joscelin of all people lecturing us on appropriate behavior hit us both hard.

The cave had apparently passed muster, and so after a few false starts we managed to get a spark from the tinderbox and make a respectable fire within it.

Joscelin led the horses in and it became apparent that, unsurprisingly, he knew far more about caring for them than Phèdre or I. Watching his tireless efficiency gave us something to think on besides our argument and put us both to shame.

"I never meant to leave you," Phèdre said softly, watching the pottage she had set over the fire on Joscelin's orders. "And neither did Delaunay."

I swallowed, hard. "I know."

_It still hurts._

"When we found you lying there, I thought…" Phèdre closed her eyes and shuddered. Her voice had gone small and uncertain, like a fledgling's first trembling attempt to use its wings. "I thought I'd lost all my family. Again."

I reached for her and laced my fingers with hers. She swallowed hard and leaned against me, eyes firmly trained on the crackling fire.

"And then I saw you were despondent, and I hated myself for rejoicing that you were with me and not with him. But I couldn't let you go. I prayed with all my heart to keep you with me."

_And Kushiel answered, didn't he?_

"None of it is your fault, Phèdre. I promise you that." I kissed the top of her dark head. "And I’m grateful to be with you. If I did wish to die, I do not feel that way now." I realized, with a jolt, that I meant it.

"I'm glad of it," Joscelin said, so quietly that I half thought I'd imagined the words.

We finished all the pottage, even Phèdre, who was usually fussy about such things. Once there was no more, she began to drowse, half resting on me and half sitting upright.

"Sleep," Joscelin told her. "They'll not find us tonight."

I watched her with tenderness, curled up in furs on the cave floor. I brushed a curl of her hair behind her ear before turning back to Joscelin.

"He used you both hard," Joscelin observed. We both knew of whom he spoke.

I let out a breath. "He did what he thought was right, as best he could. No one can ask for more."

"Before he set me to guard Phèdre, he told me about that night, when Vitale Bouvarre tried to kill you." Joscelin stared into the flames, his eyes troubled. "I did not ask why."

I touched my scarred ribs, where I still felt pain on occasion. "It was my last assignation. I had to learn the secret my lord was after."

"Did you know he might attack you?"

I was silent for a long moment. "Yes. To some extent, I did."

"Then he should never have--"

"He did not." I blinked back tears. "He hadn't the slightest inkling. He approved the assignation, but I did not tell him what the real price was, or that it was to be the last one." I forced myself to go on, not waiting for the question I knew Joscelin would ask next. "If I had told him the truth, he would never have let me go. He would have had me stop altogether, my marque half completed, my work left undone. I would have forever been a failure in Anafiel’s eyes, and he would no longer have smiled on me."

"He should have _known!"_ Joscelin said angrily. "He should have… he should _not_ have… if you died in his arms, what would he have done then?"

"Loved me always," I said, simply.

Joscelin laughed, bitterly. "As you do him. And none of us even know what he died to protect."

"Prince Rolande's daughter."

_"What?"  
_

I looked at him then, his face torn with anguish. "He loved Prince Rolande. He promised he would protect his daughter, to the grave and beyond. Ysandre made a secret marriage pact with the Prince of the Picti. That is the meaning of Rousse's message. The Black Boar in Alba have agreed."

I do not think Joscelin really grasped it then, though he would have time enough in what was to follow. All he said was, "He trusted you, then."

I wanted to say, _we were happy._

But in truth, sometimes I wondered.

Instead I closed my eyes and said, "I gave all of myself to him. And he took what I gave.” _And I loved him for it, and I love him still._

"He would have been mad not to love you," Joscelin whispered.

I opened my eyes and saw him, truly saw him, I think, perhaps for the first time. That sweet vulnerability I had seen in his face the night we had been together had returned, and I felt something brittle and cold within me begin to melt at long last.

"A man like you is wasted on the Cassiline Brotherhood," I murmured, cupping his cheek.

It was different from the first time. _I_ was different, the ghosts of the past fled briefly from my mind, with nothing to guide me but my own heart and desires. I kissed my way down his chest, his rapid breaths like a song from Naamah, meant only for me. When I performed the _languisement_ Joscelin gasped my name, his fingers trailing through my hair in an ardent gesture, petting but not pulling, a caress and not a command.

I soon lost my tunic as well, Joscelin kissing the nape of my neck passionately and gazing upon my marque with awe in his eyes.

"It's beautiful," he told me. _"You're_ beautiful." He flushed a little to say it, and then he asked the question that made me love him all the more. "Do you mind, if I call you beautiful?"

"No, I don't mind," I laughed, leaning in for another kiss. "I don't mind at all."

I was _myself_ again with him, unselfconscious and open, all cynicism forgotten. I basked in the warmth of his love, and wondered at the miracle of it. When he arched against me, crying out as he spent himself, I felt his pleasure as my own, and I understood that he felt the same way.

I stroked the curve of his hip, vowing to myself that if we survived this I would kiss his every scar. He shuddered at my touch, and I moved to the apex of his thighs, my phallus finding sweet relief at the junction. I kissed his shoulder as I ground against him, and thought, _Joscelin, Joscelin, I love you so._

When I spent myself at last, he turned and put his arm around me, eyes fluttering closed as if in prayer. _Would Cassiel hear such prayers?_ I wanted to ask, but I had no wish to spoil the tenderness of the moment.

And yet, he whispered, "Alcuin, I am Cassiel's servant. I cannot cling to that vow, no matter how I've betrayed it, and be otherwise. And without the strength of it, I've not the strength to endure. Do you understand?"

"Better than you know." I stroked his cheek. "We all have our burdens, Joscelin. I would never seek to take from you what gives you purpose."

"Ah, Alcuin!" Joscelin shook his head, a smile playing about his lips. "If I had to fall from Cassiel's grace, at least I know it took a courtesan who equaled princes."

By the light of the leaping flames, I watched him sleep, watched the tension ebb out of Joscelin's serious face. His sweet, sincere, dear face.

Phèdre slept nearby, and I felt a flash of guilt at doing such a thing when we might have woken her. But then again, this was Phèdre. I remembered how her eyes had shone to watch the showings we witnessed, and how she seemed to glow from within when she spoke of Naamah. I knew, somehow, that she would not mind.

What he had meant by that remark I did not immediately comprehend, but when I did I was glad he could not see me weep at it, for weep I did, in long shuddering gasps that I thought would never end. I was not worthy of such adoration, surely. Any moment now I must wake and find I had dreamed it all.

And for the first time, I found myself saying a prayer to Kushiel.

_Thank you, for this precious gift. Thank you, for giving me another chance._

_Thank you, for loving me too well._

By the grace of the gods, I am well and truly reborn, and I intend to stay that way.

I am Alcuin no Delaunay. And I am alive.

**Author's Note:**

> For my purposes, Skaldi words/concepts are rendered in Old Norse. I sincerely apologize to anyone fluent in Icelandic if I've fucked up, and I promise I would love you to tell me so I can fix it. (Though if you happen to be one of my cousins, this is awkward)


End file.
